Simple Pleasures
by Luciiraptar
Summary: Rachel is a princess in a magical kingdom, and one day decides to experience the experiences of the common people. Apparently, this involves being taken in a forceful and sexy manner.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Something I wrote just because. I was thinking that I might make it into more than a oneshot, but that really depends on response to this. If people don't like it, I'm not going to bother. So review if you want to see more of this! Or if you've read it! Or if you've looked at it in passing! Please!**

* * *

It is, I suppose, in poor taste to rule a kingdom one had only seen from a window.

As the princess to a wonderful, magical kingdom, I continue such line of thought as I gather my shirt and trousers, I have an obligation to know my subjects.

And, I finish such reasoning, the only way to learn about my subjects is to go out among them. Which is why I give my spymaster, Santana, a tap on the shoulder as I leave my rooms, indicating to her that I am going out. Santana dutifully gathers her things, strapping knives to her forearms and into her boots, sliding an extra pair of trousers over a short sword attached to her hip, the hilt of which is quickly covered by a vest.

I really do adore Santana, even if the woman is occasionally excessively rude, and often pessimistic. She's clever and kind beneath it all, and we often talk about girls, although I generally despair at how many of the maids and girl-servants Santana has charmed into her bed. Santana isn't even allowed in the kitchens anymore because she once bedded a woman on sheets of flour and dough, although I thought the night's bread tasted perfectly fine and everyone was just overreacting.

We go out, the two of us, slipping stealthily past the guards to make sure our passage is not noted by anyone, and we make our way into the city.

Santana and I search our way through the city, finding taverns and bookstores and even one brothel (that I have to tear Santana away from, or she'd have spent all our money on the admittedly pretty women) and, eventually, we make our way to an inn, because it's getting dark and we're far from the palace.

Santana calls a girl out of the shadows with a soft, sweet whistle. The girl has soft features, but she has the familiar steeliness of all Santana's girls: She can fight. She's in the usual dark trousers and shirt, which will magically blend into the shadows. Tina, I think this one's name is. Santana slips her a note as the girl passes, not making eye contact, not saying a word.

I am lucky I have such a skilled spymaster.

Tina then melds back into the black, slipping away towards the castle. My fathers, the kings, will not worry about me tonight. I am in capable hands.

We find an inn, settle in the tavern on the first floor. There are a few girls flitting about, serving drinks and food, and a boy at the bar. Santana murmurs, "Prepare for your first drink of something that isn't your prissy wine, milady," and she goes to get us something to drink.

While she's gone, I find my eyes tracking one of the serving girls. She's dressed in a long, soft-looking dress that hangs loosely on her, mostly concealing her figure. Her hair is lovely blonde and cut short, something I've never seen before.

I'm so focused on her, I barely notice when she arrives in front of me. "You've been staring for a good minute, now," she says brusquely. "You window shopping, or are you looking to have some of this?"

Santana suddenly claps a hand down on my shoulder. "Oh, she'll be having some of that, most definitely. But be gentle; she's a sweet little flower." Then Santana nuzzles my ear and purrs, "I've just found you your first woman, Lady Pure. I'll be here if she gets into something you don't approve of."

And then I'm whisked into another room before I can think.

Thinking this is all moving rather quickly and I'd best learn the girl's name, at the very least, I ask—and she snorts, but replies. "My name's Lucille, but I'm Quinn to my friends." She leans closer and adds, "I'd like you to be my friend this evening, love."

And then she's kissing me.

Her lips begin gently, but quickly become forceful, moving against mine in rehearsed patterns, slipping tongue into me. Quinn undoes my shirt with deft fingers, tosses it aside, begins to kiss my neck.

It suddenly occurs to me that I could call out, as Quinn latches onto my neck with the intention of marking me (while I have no intentions of stopping her), and Santana would burst through the door and likely kill Quinn. It was no empty promise, Santana's earlier words. She was sworn to protect me and our country, but me over all.

That thought keeps me from crying out as Quinn pushes me roughly, bending me over a table with a soft cloth on it, which makes me wonder how often she does this sort of thing. Maybe she's been kicked out of the kitchens, too.

"I'm going to make you feel things," she growls into my ear as she yanks down my trousers and underwear. "You will graze heaven." And before I can begin to think of a response, her mouth is on my sex, my center—lashing through my slickness and against my clit, and I feel myself beginning to unravel, the layers of seriousness and royalty melting away from her glorious tongue, her lips on mine—and there, a finger, oh, dragging through the wetness…

I take a second to attempt to focus so I can feel this more accurately.

And then my focus leaves me, because her fingers drag through my wetness again, this time going the other way—and her fingers press against my clit, making my entire body clench and the first moan tears itself from my throat.

"There's going to be more of that, little flower," Quinn purrs, sounding pleased with herself even as her voice gets huskier. "Oh, there's going to be so much more of that." And I fall apart a little more because her body presses against mine as she says it all, and her breath is suddenly hot on my ear, her soft pants arousing me even more.

A finger slides into me.

The sudden intrusion makes my body clench again, and she laughs. "Little flower, has nobody tasted your nectar before?" Quinn kisses a line of fire up and down my back, finger still inside me, and then she chuckles, "I'm very happy to be the first, then. I was the first to taste you. If you want me to, I can be the first to break—" As she is suddenly overcome with a burst of shyness, apparently, Quinn digs her finger deeper into me and I get it immediately, with a sharp gasp. My maidenhood, my virginity—this woman would break that barrier for me.

There is, of course, only one reply to this.

"Please," I whimper. "Oh, goddess, please, please, Quinn—" And then I let out another sharp gasp as she yanks my hair back harshly.

"Little flower," she says in a low, dangerous voice, "did I give you permission to speak? Hm?"

I learn quickly. I say nothing.

Quinn lets out a low chuckle that reverberates through me, causing a flood of wetness to flow over my new lover's finger. "Good pet. Good flower." She kisses my shoulder and murmurs, "I want you to tell me what you want in one word, little flower. One word. Any more and I'll punish you."

My body quivers at the idea of that, but I know what the one word is: Through my teeth, a hiss, an exhalation. "Fuck."

Quinn laughs again, but she gives me what I want, her finger going into me slowly, and then another, and she pounds me, those fingers going deep, deep, but never deep enough to break that barrier she promised to break.

Another finger. I'm stretching, but it's so hot and she's ruthless in her pleasuring, so skilled, and then—her thumb presses firmly against my clit, rubs it by proxy as her fingers move furiously inside me—

"Quinn!" It comes out, unbidden, as I tip over the edge into my first orgasm. Well, my first caused by another. I don't realize that I said her name until I realize she's stopped her fingers, except for a slow, almost nonexistent movement, barely causing enough friction to be felt—painfully close to pleasure.

"Little flower," she says in that dangerous tone again. "Do I need to teach you a lesson about obedience?"

I whimper.

Quinn breathes slowly, then pulls her fingers out of me abruptly. "Don't move. If you move at all, I'll force you to put your clothes on and leave. Don't move, and wait for me to come back. And when I come back, I will fuck you until everyone in the kingdom can hear you screaming your pleasure."

I feel a jolt of pleasure between my legs and nod eagerly.

Quinn nods and straightens herself, which is when I notice that she never took off any of her clothes. "Good little flower. I'll be back when I'm done with my work. A few hours, or so. Have fun, darling." I don't dare protest as she leaves.

The time drags on. Somehow, I can sense that she knows every minute shift of my body—that she'll know the second I try to move to a more comfortable position. So I stay bent over the table, ass thrust out, awaiting her return.

Suddenly, I can't help but giggle. I'm the princess, and I'm letting a tavern girl control me and give me orders, and bend me over a table to take me harshly.

It's amazing, and I wouldn't trade the experience for anything else, but it's a little odd.

I've calmed down, and my legs are getting tired, when Quinn finally comes back and eyes me strangely. Then she says, "Your friend is chatting up my sister, little flower. And I don't like her look."

"Does your sister work in the kitchen?" I ask innocently. I have to know. But then I remember the rule, because Quinn smirks and runs a hand along my throat.

She says, "Yes, she does, my little flower," and then she pulls sharply on my hair again, pulls me into a standing position, and then she picks me up—far stronger than she looks—and drops me on the table. "And I didn't give you permission to speak. It's quick become apparent that you, sweet flower, have a problem with that. So I have a solution." She pulls a length of something from her pocket, and suddenly—

_A silk gag?_

It's indeed a gag, and it is made of silk—or, at least, the part she ties around my face is. I'm not sure what goes into my mouth, as I've never tasted silk before. But it does its job effectively: I cannot articulate any words, not even her name.

Quinn smirks. "Good. Now, move your head to respond to my questions. I believe you know how to do that?" I nod. "Good pet. Do you want me to fuck you?" I nod. "Do you want me to fuck you with this?" She holds up, rather suddenly, an unfamiliar object, although I can guess what it is—Santana brags of using them often enough. The toy seems to be made of wood, perfectly smooth and wrapped carefully in something shiny.

I nod.

Quinn nods slowly. "Then lay back and close your eyes, little flower. I just took another break to check on you and make sure you were following orders."

I whimper, but lay down on the table and shut my eyes, focusing on my breathing. I can't fall asleep gagged, though, and that keeps me awake and anticipating Quinn's return.

The intrusion is sudden and, when I open my eyes, Quinn is standing there with a grin, the tip of her toy inside me. "Hello," she purrs. "Work's done. All the guests are either gone or in their rooms, your little friend included. So it's time for us to have our fun."

The toy parts me slowly, my body providing the lubrication. It comes to rest at my virginity—and then pushes through.

A gasp manages to escape the gag.

Then it's the same as the fingers, with Quinn setting up a relentless pace and me just trying to keep up with the pleasure until that last second—that release—the screaming of a name into a silencing—and, wonderfully, the kisses of a beautiful girl to bring her down from the highest she'd ever been.

It's easier to breathe without the gag, even though Quinn is smothering me with kisses as she gently massages me, and then she's not even doing that. She puts her fingers against my lips, and I obediently suck them clean.

I look at her expectantly, and she chuckles. "You can speak, little flower. Feel free. We're not playing mistress anymore."

Slowly, I sit up and ask, hesitantly, "Can I… taste you?"

Quinn turns and her eyes flicker up and down. "You want to return the favor?" She chuckles. "Oh, what the hell. Come on, you can stay in my room tonight."

* * *

"I really liked that kitchen girl," Santana says as we walk back to the palace. "I should go back sometime. Introduce myself. I think she might actually be good enough for me."

I laugh. "Oh, Santana. Nobody's good enough for you." I kiss her cheek. "Personally, I want to see Quinn again. She's so amazing, Santana."

Santana nudges me. "Hey, it's about you enough, Lady. Let me talk about Brittany for a while."

That makes me laugh. Santana has always been unafraid to tell me when I'm full of shit. I throw an arm around her as we enter the courtyard and offer, "What about a story for a story?

Santana laughs. "Okay. But you go first."


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: So here's the second chapter, and one more after this. And to the person that felt like giving me a biology lesson in the reviews: How dare you bring your science voodoo into my porn! But seriously, I'm asexual (and therefore nonexploratory and with no need to know such things) so please forgive me my little ignorances such as that. Anyways, read and review, it's the polite thing to do.**

* * *

"Rachel," my fathers say one day a few weeks after my visit to the tavern, "why do you insist on pretending that your little trips are secret?"

I blink and glare at Santana, who just shrugs and mouths, _They asked._ I grumble, "Because you weren't supposed to know."

My Daddy chuckles. "We won't stop you, Rachel."

"But you will insist I go with a full complement of guards," I huff. "I just want to go out and explore!" And maybe have mind-blowing sex with a beautiful blonde girl.

Dad leans forward. "We won't make you stop, Rachel, and we won't force you to go with guards. We just ask that you keep Santana near, and maybe one or two guards—even some of Santana's spies, if you want. We just want you to be safe."

I smile. "Thanks, Dad, Daddy." I hug them both, then flop back into my chair in their library. "So you don't mind if I stay out again tonight?"

"As long as you take Santana with you," Dad says.

"And we know where you stay," Daddy adds.

"And you take a little extra protection," Dad adds to Daddy's addition.

"And," Daddy finishes, "Santana promises to stay out of whatever kitchens you happen to pass."

"It was _once_," Santana grumbles.

"It was three times and you're not allowed to argue." Santana pouts at me, and I just pat her hand. "Maybe you should stop doing inappropriate things in kitchens."

"It's not my fault it's hot," Santana grumbles. "Heat turns me on. Totally not my fault."

"No kitchens," Daddy repeats, and I promise.

The idea of going out with permission has me bouncing so much that I can't read anymore, and so I set the book aside in favor of talking lowly with Santana about who we'll take with us into the city.

Eventually, we decide on two of her most skilled who have no assignments at the moment: Tina and Kurt, a boy who's surprisingly warm for one of Santana's people.

The day blurs past—a few meetings with dignitaries and their daughters, trying to see who I like, dinner, then an hour with Santana going over the information that's pouring in from the city, deciding what needs to go to my fathers. They have their own spy network for everywhere else, I know. They let me and Santana watch the capitol city because I like to feel useful.

Then all of the work is done, and we go out into the city.

I insists on exploring for a while, sating my wanderlust before we go to sate my regular lust. I want to see the city, listen to it—even smell it, although the scent is repulsive.

I want to experience my city.

We make our way to the same place as before, eventually. When Quinn sees me, she lets out a soft, annoyed hiss, grabs my arm, and hauls me to the same room as last time. "Look," she says, plummeting my hopes with her angry expression, "you were good, okay? Probably one of the best I've had. You're enthusiastic, and that's good. But I don't do repeat customers, okay? It causes problems. Many problems."

I can feel my face sliding into a pout, and she sighs and runs a hand through her hair. "Shit. It's not fair when you look all cute like that, little flower." Her fingers settle on the back of my neck. "But my point stands. I've been doing all right, and nothing good comes of breaking my own rules."

I shift so I'm closer to her, pressing against her, and pout more. My lips press, barely, against hers, and I whisper, "Please?" I take a moment to enjoy the way her eyes flutter shut as her breath hisses out against my face.

"Fine," she groans. "Go wait up in my rooms. Have you eaten already?" I shake my head no. "Then I'll bring you up something in a bit. Sit. Think. If you still want me in two hours… we'll see."

I'm about to protest, but one of her hands winds its way into my hair. "And maybe we won't have to review last time's lessons as well, little flower." She kisses my jaw and mutters, "Go, now. I'm sure you haven't forgotten the way."

I haven't. We were either kissing or fucking most of the way there. Before I go to her room, though, I take a moment to find Santana at a table and give her a stern look to remind her not to go into the kitchens. She just winks and makes a suggestive gesture, and I blush and run to Quinn's room.

Once there, I wander around, looking at her room. I didn't get to, before. There are a few drawings pinned to the walls, strange drawings. One I recognize as me, but half my face has turned into wilted roses, dripping towards the bottom of the page. The other half is remarkably accurate.

There are other pages, too, full of words. I take a moment to look at one.

_Her fingers sought the familiar, warm, wet, and she found it. She found it burning for her, soaking, familiarity drowned in unfamiliar, unquenchable lust. One finger slid in carefully, wrenching a cry from the girl in answer. Neither girl noticed when the headmistress stepped in, wearing nothing but her necklace._

"You like?" Quinn asks from behind me. I step away from the story, blushing. "I meddle in a lot of things, but writing and singing are my favorite. I write stories _for_ people, most of the time, all sorts of stories. It's a great way to meet people, to expand your mind and soul. It's a good challenge, too."

I cough quietly. "Who's that one for?"

Quinn takes a look and grins. "Oh. That one's entirely for me, little flower." Then she gestures to the tray she set down. "Your meal. Do you need anything else? And what should I tell your friend down there, as she's getting a bit… worried? That you're in here furiously pleasuring yourself to my work?"

I blush. "Just… tell her whatever you want. Santana can just get a little protective."

Quinn nods. "Okay, then." She backs up, to the doorway. "Don't break anything while I'm gone. And don't touch yourself." I hadn't planned on it, but the idea sends a jolt between my legs. "I mean it," Quinn repeats, drilling the order into my brain with serious eyes. "Don't. Not in my room. The only one allowed to touch you in here is me."

That definitely starts something in my body, but before I can ask her to do something—anything, really—to me, she's gone.

With a sigh, I sit down and eat, then go back to looking at the pages on the walls.

It's a while before she comes back. I'm not sure how long. She's angry with me, though, which is not what I expected. "Leave," she snaps. "Now."

Confusion surges. "Why?"

Quinn takes a few deep breaths. "I caught your _friend_," and she spits that word out like it's poisonous to even think, "taking advantage of my sister. She's banned from here—and so are you."

"Quinn."

"Leave!" she orders again. "Before I hurt you. And I'm tempted." She takes slow breaths. "Nobody takes advantage of my sister," she says, slowly and deliberately.

"Quinn!"

I use my best imperial voice for that, and it shuts her up. "Can you explain what happened?" I ask slowly.

She starts pacing. "I check on Brittany regularly. When I went back there—she was up against the wall and…" She lets out a frustrated groan. "There was an impression in the _dough_, little flower. The stuff we make our bread from. The stuff that my family eats."

I blink. "Again?" I muse to myself. "You'd think she'd have learned the last time." I grab Quinn's hands. "Look. If this Brittany is the same Brittany Santana was talking about last time we came here, I think she genuinely likes the girl. And I know seeing your sister having sex can be a little traumatizing, but please look past that and realize that family grows up."

Quinn collapses onto her bed. "I know. It's just… Brittany, she's… I hate to say slow, and she's not, she's just—"

I stop her, squeezing her hand. "She's your sister, Quinn. That's explanation enough. She's just Brittany."

Quinn smiles slowly. "Yeah. She is."

I rub her forearm. "So am I still kicked out?"

She lets out a slow breath. "You should be."

"But I'm not?"

The blonde shuts her eyes, still breathing deeply and slowly. "No. You're not."

"Do you want to just—I mean, do you want to lay down with me instead of having sex?"

Quinn looks at me strangely, her eyes full of curiosity, biting her lip. Then she says, "I have half an hour left before the tavern closes. But—yeah."

I smile happily in my victory, and get a kiss before she goes back. A few minutes later, Santana appears. "So I'm to assume you are going to spend the night in here again?"

I grin. "So I'm to assume you're going to spend the night in Brittany's room?"

Santana shrugs. "Tina's going to take first watch, outside—I'm bringing in someone to back her up, not sure who yet. Kurt will stand watch inside. He won't be hovering near doors or anything, but he'll hear you if your Quinn starts stabbing you." She pauses, adopts a exaggeratedly concentrated face. "I mean, with something other than her fingers. Or an _implement._" She laughs at the blush on my cheeks and kisses them both. "Get laid tonight, Lady. And then tomorrow, we can do some actual work."

I nod and watch her leave. And then I strip down to just my underwear, sliding under the blanket on Quinn's bed. It's not as soft as my bed, but it's strangely comforting to be surrounded by the smell of Quinn. Even if that smell is mingled with many other scents I don't want to think about.

But it slips into my brain, against my will: How many girls has Quinn had in this bed? How many girls has she bent over that table and taken roughly? Has she ever let someone do the same to her?

By the time she comes back, I'm crippled by my insecurities and back in my clothes, pacing. She smiles. "Hey, little f—" She grunts as I collide with her, my arms tight around her waist. "What happened, little flower?" She forces me to look up at her. "Tell me, now."

"I just…" I bite my lip. "How many girls have you had in this bed?"

She lets out a soft sigh. "That's what's bothering you? Listen to me, listen close. That doesn't matter. That's past. That's done with. Has nothing to do with what we're doing, okay?" She sticks a finger into my trousers and pulls me closer. "Now shut up and kiss me, little flower."

There are still doubts in my mind—but they disappear when her mouth crushes against mine, tongue automatically seeking my own as her hands press roughly against my body through my clothes.

"Tell me," she orders, as she shoves me onto her bed, "exactly what it is you want from me."

I bite my lip, watching her as she slowly strips, glad she changed her mind, and then I whisper, "I want you to fuck me."

Now naked, her posture shifts, covering the place between her legs that I was previously entranced by. "Little flower," she says with a sweetly dangerous smile, "I couldn't hear that. Speak louder, please."

I clear my throat and say, "I want you to fuck me," a bit louder than the first time.

Quinn smiles slowly. "Well, then, little flower, what are you waiting for? You have to _earn_ it this time, dear, you've already got your free one. If you do good enough, I may return the favor."

That gets me wetter, very quickly. The idea that my pleasure depends entirely on her.

She lays down on top of me, kissing me lazily, and then she rolls off and spreads her legs. "Well? Get to it."

Without hesitating, I shift until I'm between her legs, nuzzling her inner thigh, close to that glorious, heated, soaked core that I wanted to taste again. I take a deep breath to smell—and then I'm on her.

There's not much thought to it—I like to think of myself as naturally wonderful at this, and I'm far too busy reveling in the taste of her and the way she shifts and squeaks and moans as my tongue slides slowly through her, languidly enjoying itself, then plays with her clit.

The second I touch that bundle, though, she's gone, pulling my head into her with familiar motions and that moan— "Quinn," I say seriously, "did you just…"

"Yes," she grumbles. "It's been a while, okay? Not a lot of women willing to go into a back room with someone they just met, little flower. And for someone like me, a while can be…"

"I understand," I murmur, kissing her lightly, letting her taste herself. Our breasts press together, which heats me up more. "Are you going to…?" I let it trail off into my unspoken question.

"I'm thinking about it," she says with a teasing smile. "And after this point… you aren't allowed to make a sound. Not. A single. Sound." She punctuates that last sentence with kisses, warm and warming.

I nod, staying silent as she looks at me, her eyes sleepy but obviously wanting. Then she leans down and presses a lazy kiss to my nipple, and murmurs, "I'm going to fuck you harder than you could ever imagine," and proceeds to do so.

* * *

In the morning, Santana greets me with a grin. "So, Lady? How was your night?"

I blush. "How was yours, Santana? And while you're here, you'd best call me Rachel. We are, after all, incognito."

Santana rolls her eyes, stretching out slowly. "I had an absolutely fantastic night, thank you very much. My girl and I made out and snuggled all night, ignoring the sounds of you two banging away in Quinn's room. By the way," she adds with a laugh, "you are excessively loud."

I'm about to retort, when she adds, "Which is why I'm surprised you're so quiet when you're having sex." She laughs raucously while I just pout at her.

Quinn comes in, humming lowly. "Hello," she says to me with a small smile. "I think you'd best go now, little flower. Although you're welcome back any time."

Santana snickers as we leave. "She calls you little flower?"

"Hush," I grumble. "I'm sure Brittany calls you something, too."

"My name." Santana rolls her eyes. "Whatever. Come on, we have to get back to your fathers before they kill me—and you're going to have to tell them about your little lover soon, Rachel. They should know."

I huff. "They don't have to know everything about me, Santana."

She turns me to look at her. "Hey. I know those eyes you gave her. Those are your love-struck eyes, and I know because I've seen you use them before. So tell your fathers before we go there again, or I will."

"Fine," I grumble. "We're going again tomorrow. If nothing extremely important comes up, I'll tell them tonight."


End file.
